


Spiritual Skins

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Moving Tattoo(s), Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This could be read as a crossover into the world of Harry Potter (or not)<br/>Just … Magical Tattoos :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiritual Skins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ividraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ividraws/gifts).



Derek’s tattoo on his back is the ordinary, non magical kind.

After all, it was already hard enough to get his werewolf skin to accept the marking, he was not about to meddle with magic.

But that was before he decided to bind himself to a Spark.

A Spark who loves nothing more than to experiment with his magical abilities, and who adores marking Derek’s skin.

But of course, he had to test it on his own skin first.

First, Stiles decides to give some life to a tattoo of a constellation on his bicep.

“Do you know which one it is, Derek,” he asks with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he shows it off, the dots actually sparkling like the night sky along the lines of his muscle.

“I know that there is no constellation of the Idiot, so…,” Derek deadpans, clamping on his sudden desire to see for himself what stars taste like.

“It’s Sirius!”

Derek regretfully returns his attention to Stiles, who is grinning at him.

“... Sirius?”

“You know,” Stiles adds, waving between his arm and Derek, “Canis Major!”

Derek closes his eyes, torn between laughing and growling.

Nah, growling is better.

“You got yourself a tattoo--a magic tattoo, just to make a dog joke?” he asks, standing up and slowly approaching Stiles.

See, anybody else would cower and apologize. But not his little Spark, who, if anything, stands taller and puts his arms around Derek’s neck.

“I got myself a magic tattoo,” he replies softly, pecking kisses around Derek’s frowny pout, “of the brightest star in the sky and its constellation to reflect my… sparkly quality.”

Derek hums his doubts, his arms still sneaking around Stiles’ waist. “Really?”

“And to make a dog joke because it was that or a waning moon and I’m not there yet,” Stiles continues, but before Derek can protest, or growl, or do anything even remotely threatening, Stiles presses a kiss to the side of Derek’s neck, just under his jaw--aka Derek’s snooze button.

Story closed for now, and Derek does bite onto Stiles’ bicep later that night--turns out, stars taste just as delicious as the man carrying them.

\---

The next tattoo Stiles magics up to life is not on himself but on Erica.

At first glance, it’s a small black cat playing with a bitten red apple.

But every now and then, a member of the pack notices that the cat is… missing.

“Could I see your tattoo?” Isaac asks innocently once, his eyes darting to the nape of Erica’s neck where the apple sits idly by itself.

Erica smirks at him. “I think it’s taking a nap somewhere you have no place in seeing, my sweet lamb,” she replies, patting the swell of her ass.

Isaac turns bright red, but Boyd--Boyd definitely looks interested.

Derek doesn’t need to know what the other betas are up to, and he turns to Stiles with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, I did the tattoo on her neck, man!” Stiles replies to his non verbal question, raising his hands up in a show of almost believable innocence. “She asked for it to be able to move around. That’s all I did!”

“You can do that?”

“Obviously.”

Derek hums and resumes his reading, keeping the idea of Stiles marking his skin with running wolves to himself.

\---

Then Stiles manages to add a layer of magic to a tattoo on his own back, and Derek is… mesmerized, could be a good word to describe his state of mind.

It represents [autumn leaves](http://www.cuded.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/36-tattoo-back-realistic-leaf.jpg), the colors bright on his skin--oranges, reds and browns all the more stark against it--but when Stiles does his magic, the leaves actually twirl around his back, animated by an unseen wind.

And Derek can’t look away.

Truth be told, he generally finds himself unable to look away whenever Stiles’ shirt--shirts, actually, so many layers--is off, but that addition leaves him speechless in wonderment.

“Derek?”

The way the leaves turn around, showing both sides, in an endless cycle…

“Um, Derek? Earth to Derek?”

The colors, burning in the warmest way around Stiles’ back…

“Earth to Derek!”

That shakes him of his trancelike observation and he looks up from the space between Stiles’ shoulder blades. “Wha--?”

“I love that you approve of my ink, really I do,” Stiles says, reaching for his shirt--no, no, why is he reaching for his shirt, he took it off for a reason, the shirt needs to stay off--and turning to face Derek. “But this is confusing as hell. Are you turned on or do you just love leaves?”

Stiles waits for a moment, a small frown digging a line between his eyes, and then a smirk makes a tentative appearance. “Is that it? Want to play in piles of leaves in the backyard?”

Derek shrugs, trying to hide his blush--curse his ears for always revealing too much. “I just love the colors on your skin,” he mumbles in the crook of his arm, and Stiles comes to sit next to him.

“Aww,” he coos, putting his arms around Derek’s shoulders, pressing his chest to Derek’s back. “You’re just adorable when you get embarrassed.”

“I’ll show you adorable,” Derek growls for good, swiftly throwing Stiles over his shoulder like the big bag of potatoes that he is, crossing the room until they get to the kitchen door that leads to the aforementioned backyard.

“Derek!” Stiles shrieks, grabbing onto Derek for dear life, scrabbling at his t-shirt and trying to wrap his legs around Derek’s torso. “Don’t you d--”

Derek stops moving, smirking as he puts his arms under Stiles’ legs to hold him up, slowing down as he walks around the garden, the dead leaves crackling under his foot.

“--dare, woof,” Stiles sighs in relief, his arms wrapped more loosely around Derek’s shoulders as he relaxes into the piggy ride back. “Alright,” he adds, kissing Derek’s cheek, “you are not adorable. Adorable does not register in our vocabulary.”

“Good,” Derek simply says before dropping Stiles in the pile of leaves he raked that very morning.

He’ll have to do it all over again, sure, but the look of bewilderment on Stiles’ face before he is taken over by a fit of laughter is well worth it.

\---

Nobody is surprised when Derek finally relents and agrees to “let” Stiles create a magic tattoo on his skin.

There’s his not so discreet obsession with the ink already present and alive on the different pack members’ bodies, for starters, and his even less discreet obsession for the ink on Stiles himself--that’s a pretty big clue of how okay he is with the whole concept.

But the most obvious reason is one only known to Stiles: it’s Derek’s reaction to the way Stiles’ magic wraps around them, around him like a warm blanket in the end of fall, on the brink of winter.

Whenever Stiles taps into his Spark, that’s exactly how Derek feels: content, and safe, and warm, and loved, and his whole body surrenders to it.

And according to Stiles, a magic tattoo by yours truly would be a sure way to keep that contentment in Derek’s heart wherever he is--wherever Stiles is.

So… tattoo.

Since Stiles has proven that he can tattoo a werewolf’s skin without making it a traumatic experience, it’s only a matter of design and color.

Derek mentions his idea of a pack running around--and a bigger wolf leading the group, and black coats, that would be perfect--and Stiles silences him with a long, deep kiss that holds a magic of its own.

“I have an idea,” he whispers against Derek’s lips, but that idea has to take a backseat for a little while, during which Derek reacquaints himself with all the spots that make Stiles shudder and shiver and moan his name like it’s a religious experience.

Stiles’ idea, as it turns out, is something simple.

It’s almost elegant in its simplicity: the black silhouette of the running wolves are shadowed by strong pieces of Beta blue that morph into shadows of the silhouette.

Even in stillness, the [tattoo ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/35/a3/ff/35a3ff2d54adf0746911e317e95b5077.jpg)that now runs--ha--around Derek’s hipbone is a thing of beauty, a work of inked art in and of itself.

But in motion, with Stiles’ special… magical complement?

It’s breathtaking.

The wolves run to the beat of Derek’s heart, and how on earth did Stiles manage to pull off that one trick, nobody knows (not even Deaton or Chris Argent, and the way they eye the young man after witnessing his prowess doesn’t bode well for Stiles’ free time in the weeks that follow).

When he’s sleeping, it’s more of a trot, the wolves moving around the landscape of his body at a leisurely pace, the biggest one sniffing around and leading the rest.

When he’s simply hanging out with the pack, sometimes they can see a wolf’s tail or ear peeking out from under his collar or sleeves, but it’s gone before one of them can even try to pull the fabric away.

Oh try they do, but Derek is quick enough to punch them away, and for those who even manage to get their hands close enough to Derek’s shirt to attempt and move it away, the electricity coming out of Stiles’ fingertips is as dissuasive as any threat.

And in any case, the wolves seem to share their owner’s taste for privacy.

When Derek is running--for exercising purposes--the wolves run around too, climbing his side to run over the crest of his shoulders, around his neck and over his chest, or down his leg, the pack running in twirls around Derek’s calves and ankles before returning to their “assigned” spot when he starts slowing down.

If Derek running was distracting before, it’s completely dizzying now, as far as Stiles is concerned--and he’s not even ashamed to admit, face covered in blood and a teeth slightly chipped, that that’s the reason he ran into a tree.

Oddly enough, when Derek is fighting, the pack moves over his heart, forming a tight, protective black and blue shape on his chest. The pattern becomes almost abstract, vibrant with contained fury, and just looking down at it gives him the strength and the will to carry on, to keep on fighting for what is right, for his pack--the past and the present ones.

But the most beautiful part of Derek’s tattoo appears when Derek is lying in bed with Stiles.

Not necessarily in a sexual context, no--a simple cuddling session brings it to life, and Stiles knows that it’s because his Spark is so attuned to Derek himself, it infused the tattoo with a deep link to Stiles and to their relationship.

Because even when they are just lying next to each other, fingertips barely brushing but still, the presence of one unmissable by the other, the wolves run faster than ever, but not as a pack.

It reminds Derek of a time long gone, when all the Hale clan lived under one roof, when the kids could run out the excessive full moon energy around the whole forest.

Each wolf picks up a path and runs through it, the criss crossing hypnotizing but amusing, comforting even in the delight the animals apparently take in their freedom across the wide expanse of smooth skin.

But if Stiles reaches for Derek?

Then it becomes a frenzy, all the wolves trying to get the closest to his touch, the shadows climbing on top of one another, and the blue shades tumbling around like pieces of a broken mirror, or like scattered petals in a too strong wind.

“Shh,” Stiles soothes, running his fingers across Derek’s stomach to satisfy all of them, “I’m right here.”

He’s never sure if the purr he feels under the pad of his fingers is entirely Derek’s, or a mixture of Derek’s and the inked wolves.

Either way, Stiles is not about to complain.


End file.
